Things That Annoy Me, Part Whatever

That's right, I've lost track. Really, it would be much easier to list the things that don't annoy me. But not as much fun and certainly not as cathartic.

Every now and then, I feel like ranting about a phrase or term that irks me. The last time I did, the phrase was "I'd take a bullet for you." First of all, that's a stupidly empty phrase -- people just say it to sound like Friend of the Year, when they know damn well they'll never have to prove it. And second, who says I want you to take a bullet for me? Then you're dead or maimed, and I'm left with lifelong guilt. No, thank you.

Anyway... today's phrase is the feel-good saying: "Don't cry because it's over; smile because it happened."

OK, on its sweet and shiny surface, it sounds nice. Scratch off the veneer, and you'll see that it's utter BS.

Sure, it would be nice to completely bypass the normal grieving process of loss and skip straight to the warm and happy fuzzies. And maybe some people can do that -- if they are robots, or if they're lucky enough to be sociopaths who are devoid of those pesky human emotions.

Along the same lines, I recently came across a post where the writer was talking about the transience of some relationships. I can't remember the exact wording, but it was something along the lines of, "People come and go in our lives. There is no point in morning [sic] those who have gone; we should simply focus on what we learned from them."

Oh, kiss my ass. Tell you what, folks. Don't tell me not to cry, and don't tell me not to mourn. Don't invalidate my feelings. And if you don't, I'll do my part and I won't call you an idiot for spewing such drivel.

I'm not saying we should steep ourselves in grief and stay there indefinitely. But feeling sad, crying, etc. over something we've lost is part of the process, a step that cannot be skipped. It deserves acknowledgement and patience. Telling someone they shouldn't cry or grieve is the very thing that's going to keep them stuck. Because they'll shove down the feelings and never process them properly.

I know what you're thinking. "You have your own feel-good phrase that you trot out, Erica." Yes, I do. "The depth of your despair will be the height of your joy."

Let's review. Is there any part of that saying that tells the person not to despair? That denies or invalidates the existence of the sadness? No. It is merely a statement of hope, reminding the person that if they are capable of feeling deep pain, then in turn, they can also feel great joy. And they will, sooner or later. When I'm in the pits, I tell myself this, and I know that at some point, the tide will turn.

Here's a thought, folks: Next time you talk to someone who has just suffered a loss of whatever kind, spare them the invalidating homilies. Instead, simply offer them your most heartfelt "I'm so sorry."

Enough of that. In other news, my Cane-iac blog got Chrossed today, which makes me happy. That will bring even more attention to them, which they deserve. I received my second cane in the mail today, so it will be tested next Monday. :-)

And finally -- I may be an Uber-curmudgeon this time of year, but let it not be said that I can't laugh at myself. Check out my December persona, courtesy of the brilliant Zelle. :-)

Those glasses are not mine; she Photoshopped them on. Damn, she's good!  Oh, and where did she get a photo of me making such a smug face? Where else... it's my mug shot from Spanking Court.

Have a great weekend, y'all.

Off-Topic Rant: The Gym Edition

Oh, come on -- you didn't think this hearts and flowers business was going to last forever, did you? :-)  Besides, I haven't done one of these for a long time.

It's no secret that, while I adore certain individuals, people en masse generally get on my nerves. I really do need to discover Erica Island one of these days. But until then, I will continue to have my space invaded by people who annoy me. And what better place to find an eclectic collection of bothersome folks than at one's gym?

I may be a novelty, but I don't go to the gym to socialize and hang out. I want to get in, do my thing and go home. But even though I may seem to be in my own little world, plugged into my iPod, I am always aware and observing. And several obnoxious types cross my path on any given day. Here are just a few.

The Multitaskers (AKA "I'm too damned important to unplug for an hour")

You know the type. They have their cell phone with them all through their workouts. They're yammering away while on the treadmill. They sit and text while on a piece of equipment you're waiting to use. They're shouting in the locker room. I've got news for you guys: You are not the @#$%ing President of the United States. You're not so indispensable that you can't shut off your damn phone for an hour or so.

The Sweathogs

Self-explanatory. They can't be bothered to bring a towel, and they are oblivious to the paper towel dispensers throughout the gym. Folks, I commend you for working hard, truly I do. But that doesn't mean I want to use equipment that's glistening with your drippings.

The Muscleheads

Ah yes -- how can we miss these guys? The big macho bruisers with biceps the size of Volkswagen Beetles, spewing testosterone all over everything within ten feet of them. If you want to use a particular piece of equipment and they're on it, you might as well forget about it and move on to something else -- they're probably only up to the 15th of their 50 sets.

Muscleheads often fall into one or both of the following subgroups:

1. The Weight Slammers. You know, the men who feel the need to SLAM the weights or the machines with a loud CRASH when they're done. If they're on the second floor, the ceiling of the story below them cracks. And they often do their thing directly below the posted sign that reads: "Please do not drop the weights."

2. The Screamers/Grunters/Groaners. No doubt you've heard them. "Hear me roar -- I am strong and I am EXERTING MYSELF!!" Some of them sound like they're being tortured; others sound like they're having an orgasm. And yet others sound like they need more fiber in their diet. Oh, shut the hell up. You're lifting a weight, not giving birth.

The Bored Housewives

These tend to be a morning/early afternoon feature. They come to the gym, ostensibly to work out, but end up standing around in clusters, exercising nothing but their jaws. Loudly. And they often block things you want to use, so you have to interrupt their yammering to get past them and suffer their glares of indignation.

Oh, pardon me, ladies. If I bring you some coffee and pastries, will you move your yappy asses somewhere else so I can get to the leg press?

What brought on this rant, you might ask. My last gym visit, that's what.

I chose my elliptical trainer carefully, avoiding the cell-phone users. One-third of the way into my workout, a woman I recognized as The Hip-Hop Queen took the elliptical next to mine. Oh, crap.

She is a big woman, loaded down with stuff (her water bottle, cell phone, iPod, book). Her warmup is fine, non-obtrusive. But once she's into it, she really gets into it. She starts doing a whole routine on the elliptical, complete with head rolls and snaky arms wildly waving about. She sings. She snaps her fingers and claps her hands.

It is @#$%ing obnoxious.

I turn my head to the side so all her gesticulating doesn't enter my peripheral vision, and I'm OK for a little while. But then the loud fingersnapping and popping starts up, and I think I must go mad.

It's just a few minutes out of your life, Erica. Ignore it. Focus on what you're doing.

Snap. Snap. Snap.

Live and let live, Erica. She's not bothering you.

Pop. Pop. Pop.

Oh yes, she damn well is. No! Stoppit. Tune her out. Think about nice things. Think positive, benevolent thoughts...

Snap. Snap. Snap.

OK, if she snaps those fingers one more time, I'm going to break them.

Clap. Clap.

Ugh. Go back to the snapping.

Are people really that oblivious? Do they not realize that others can actually hear and see them? I mean, I like my music too. But I enjoy it silently. The most I'll do when I'm really into a song is mouth along to the words. I do not sing. Why? Because I'm fully aware that, while I'm hearing thumping drums, wailing guitars and harmonizing voices, others around me will only hear my disembodied and off-key singing, and I wouldn't be that inconsiderate.

It's no wonder why, on certain gym days when I'm simply not in the mood for any of this, I haul the free weights out of my closet and work out in my living room. Thank goodness for the anti-socialite's options.

Rant over. I feel much better . Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to get ready... to go to the gym. :-)

Repost: Some helpful suggestions

Sorry, kids -- I don't have a CHoS today. But speaking of poor correspondence, I thought it would be apropos today to repost a little rant I originally wrote on my old MySpace blog several months ago. I've changed some of it because some of the details that pertained then don't now, but the gist is still there. See, I'm always trying to improve the Internet society. So for those who read this before, I apologize for the repeat. But some things do bear repeating. Here goes:

I am sick sick SICK of people who have nothing better to do than to sit behind their keyboards and take anonymous potshots at others. You know, the Internet is an amazing thing -- the whole world is at your fingertips, and you can contact just about anyone you want. Some people use that power to reach out and support, to bolster, to encourage, to share friendship and be kind. Others use it for malice, and for the life of me, I can't figure out how people can be so damned mean. Do you have any idea what you're doing, how bad you make people feel? Do you get a surge of joy when you kick someone who's already in the dumps? Does it build you up when you attack a stranger and tear them down? What is your problem? Who took away your teddy bear when you were three?

Yes, I know, I have my Correspondence Hall of Shame. But I do not go forth and attack people on their own turf. I merely showcase the rude things people have already written to me, and anonymously. Never a name, never an identifier. It's my way of dealing with the frustration of receiving such stupid crap. But when my personal space gets attacked (or my friends' spaces, as the case may be), that's it. I see red. My claws come out. I can't change the world or its cretinous inhabitants, but damned if I can't blow off a little steam.

So, to the lovely folks who get their kicks from throwing stones and ruining other people's days, might I offer a few suggestions?

1. Since you clearly have a lot of time on your hands, perhaps you should volunteer some of it to help those less fortunate than you. But don't work with children. The youth of America is doomed as it is.

2. Get a hobby. Take up a sport. Perhaps learn to play an instrument. Who knows -- the same hands that can type trash and wank vigorously at the same time could make beautiful music.

3. Pour your wit and wisdom into a manuscript for the next Great American Novel. It will be the world's thinnest book, but hey, we do what we can.

4. Since you already have the freak thing down, join a circus. Learn to be a contortionist. Then you can entertain yourself by bending over backwards and kissing your own ass.

5. When you get the urge to write something uncalled for, go relax in a hot bath. Oh, and while you're soaking in there, perhaps you can fix the toaster, or any other electrical appliance that needs repair. Be sure to plug it in and test it.

6. And if none of these are to your liking, there's always my good buddy Craig's suggestion: Go fuck yourselves.

To all the good people who help provide balance to the world's detritus, thank you. You are appreciated more than you can imagine. (big cheesy smile here)

*  *  *  *

I really wish it were two weeks from now, and we were on our way to the Shadow Lane party. I am feeling stressed, irritable and restless, worried about J who is working too damned hard for a change and is dead exhausted, it's 100 degrees out, blah blah blah. Last weekend, we went to the memorial of a colleague of his, who died in a motorcycle crash. I thought perhaps I should schedule a visit to my mother this weekend, but you know, I just can't. I don't have it in me. We are both overdue for some fun. And I am overdue to play and play and play until I am oblivious to the world, blissed out and without a care.

Have a great weekend, y'all. Stay cool.